


Carnations

by HappinessEscape (passicnfruit)



Series: Flower Children [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Friendship, Language of Flowers, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, more or less?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 09:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3805546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passicnfruit/pseuds/HappinessEscape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akaashi helps Bokuto pack for college.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carnations

**Author's Note:**

> BokuAka has honestly ruined me. Also, I just saw that post talking about Bokuto lending Akaashi his jacket and I just... send help
> 
> edit: holy ass what the fuck did i write what was i thinking writing at 4am jfc who the hell

 

“So, Akita, huh?” Keiji holds up the silvery white snow jacket, examining the subtle sheen on it. The material is soft but bulky, and hasn’t yet soaked up his upperclassman’s scent. It still smells new, he notes, a characteristic uncommon to most of Koutarou’s things. “Isn’t it a bit… cold?”

Koutarou tosses a stack of sloppily-folded tank tops into his oversized luggage. “Yeah, I guess, but I mean,” he sniffs at one of the t-shirts on the floor, then scrunches up his nose, “it seems pretty fun, y’know?”

Keiji couldn’t quite grasp the appeal of going to a place where the weather was never pleasant; Akita’s winters were too icy, and its summers were no better, being sweltering and sticky. Even so, he agrees, verbally, with an indifferent “I suppose so, Senpai.”

Keiji clears up a spot on the bed, shoving the unfolded clothes in Koutarou’s direction and lying lazily on his side. He keeps his eyes fixed on the desk opposite him, avoiding the sight of his best friend near the closet behind him. The year had been anticlimactic, to say the least; Fukurodani had made it past the prefectural matches earlier that year, defeating Nekoma and the other schools nearby without exerting notably high amounts of effort, but was utterly defeated in the second round of nationals when Komi sprained his wrist during the first set. The third years cried in the locker room immediately after the match, but the team hardly had time to mourn much, as they were briskly shuffled out and onto the bus, where the slept until they returned home. Then, they all slept in, for the first time in what seemed like ages, and avoided looking at their old volleyball shoes and gear for the rest of the semester.

That was it.

There was nothing else to it.

But even so, Keiji couldn’t help but feel a little heartbroken. After all, they did practice every day, just as hard as any other team, so they definitely could have went all the way. So why didn’t they? Why did they have to lose to some no-name school that lost in the very next round anyway?

“Keiji.”

Koutarou’s voice shakes him out of his trance. How long had he been lying there? He shuts his eyes tight and rubs them as he sits up.

“Hey, let’s get out of here for a bit. I’m sick of packing and I’m not leaving till Sunday anyway.” He helps his best friend up, and hands him his favorite jacket.

Keiji slings the black and white sports jacket over his shoulders, pulls the collar to his face, and breathes. Koutarou remains silent.

 

The week ends before either of them could do much. Keiji continued to help Koutarou pack and purchase new supplies and such for university, but they never explicitly mention his departure again until Saturday night.

The two decide to spend their last night together on the couch, idly watching a new show about a simpleton girl who moves to a big city. Neither of them are paying much attention to the content, but the room would be too quiet without it. Keiji rests his head on Koutarou’s lap, and buries his face in the pockets of his friend’s sweatshirt. Koutarou takes the rare opportunity, the small moment during which Keiji decides to show even a little vulnerability, and strokes his hair like a cat.

“I’m not gonna be gone forever, you know,” he reminds. “I’ll try to drop by every so often, and you could come over whenever you want, too.”

Koutarou can hear Keiji breathe through his mouth, a sound so subtle he’d have missed it if the television were on any louder. Even if he doesn’t seem like it, Keiji _is_ still a kid, to Koutarou at least, and has his own emotions and conflicts regardless of whether or not he wants to show them. Koutarou isn’t stupid, despite his generally light and upbeat aura; he knows that Keiji is worried about him forgetting their friendship, worried that he’ll go off and make new friends, worried he’ll become an entirely different person—he’s worried that he’ll lose his best friend.

And as much as he wants to assure him that he’ll be fine, they’ll still be buds, and nothing will change between the two of them, even he himself isn’t entirely sure what will happen, and so he doesn’t quite know what to say.

So even he’s surprised when he opens his mouth to speak, “You should keep my jacket.”

And then he’s surprised again, when Keiji turn his head up to face him, and, with misty eyes, begins to laugh.

 

Sunday comes and so does the team—what’s left of it, that is, with Washio and Komi already long gone, and Onaga busy babysitting his little cousins—and the sight of her son all grown up and ready to leave the nest has Mama Bokuto in tears. Keiji’s brought flowers, a scarlet and coral bouquet of carnations, and hands it meaningfully to his best friend before wrapping an arm around his other mother. She wipes her eyes gingerly, and offers Keiji a fresh tissue from her pocket. He rejects it initially, but notices the gentle look on Koutarou’s face and reconsiders, thanking her politely before taking it in his hand.

The shinkansen arrives a minute ahead of schedule, and Keiji can’t help but feel a little bit disappointed. His chest aches, heavy, as if he’s dropped a barbell on his chest and can’t lift it off, and his nose has decided to stop functioning properly. He gives Koutarou one last handshake, before being pulled firmly into a hug, and burying his face in his friend’s neck.

And he breathes.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been really stressed lately, and decided to write on my one more-or-less night off. This was initially going to be a KuroKen, but I decided BokuAka would fit better, for whatever reason.
> 
> Basically, red carnations are pretty universally (I think? i’ve seen a lot of this so) considered to mean something along the lines of “admiration,” (or, with a deeper hue of red, “love/passion”) occasionally to the effect of one’s heart aching for another (I imagine the connection is something similar to an “I admire you, but [I believe that] this admiration/respect/love is one-sided”).
> 
> Pink carnations, on the other hand, have many meanings; my favorites, and perhaps most appropriate in terms of this context, suggest such meanings as gratitude (for being Akaa's cap/bestie, and for making high school interesting, something which I think Akaa would certainly come to appreciate, but more on that later), impulsiveness/unpredictability (probably one of the things which Akaashi loves (romantically or not) most about Bokuto), and "I’ll never forget you,” “I’ll always be with you."


End file.
